The Infamous Grey Polly
by MornieGalad
Summary: The Rating is for potential upcoming violence. What happens when Saruman's plans for Gandalf go a bit more amiss than they do in the actual plot of LOTR
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer:Squawk Squawk squawki squawk Translation: This is Tolkien's, but my cockatiel, Elessar said LOTR didn't have enough birds, so I decided to humor him. Therefore, without further ado. . .

The Infamous Grey Polly

Chapter 1 A Little Surprise

"Gandalf, I am becoming sick and tired of your stubbornness!" Shouted Saruman as he clambered up the tower of Orthanc. Gandalf sighed. For the three hours he had been imprisoned in Isengard, Saruman had been up every five minutes to see if Gandalf had changed his mind.

"I think I hear your pet worm calling."

"Indeed," Saruman said, no humor in his voice. He was now on the top of Orthanc facing Gandalf, staff in hand. "What have you decided?"

"The same thing I decided five minutes ago. You may kill me, but you will not get the ring." At that moment, footsteps were heard on the stairs below.

"My lord, the Uruks are hideous, they look like Orcs and Wargs mixed together!" squealed Grima. Saruman donned an evil smirk. "And worse yet," continued Grima, "they're climbing trees, writig with sticks in the mud, collecting boquets of leaves, and stargazing!"

"Stargazing!" Saruman turned on Grima, waving his staff. "What are they?! Elves?! They are Uruk-Hai. Terrifying, stinking, fighting, killing, Uruk-Hai. They can not stargaze!"

"Actually, my lord, they are a tiny bit elven," Grima whispered.

"What! Come with me. We'll wee an end to this. Stargazing! I'll blow out all the stars in the sky. Set them straight. My Uruk-Hai," Saruman fumed as he descended the staircase. A few minutes later he returned.

"Gandalf, you fool. You can't possibly. . . "he stopped as he scanned the tower. Gandalf was nowhere to be seen . He rushed to the edge of Orthanc andd, seeing nothing, he shouted to the wind, "So you have chosen DEATH!"

"Sam, he'll be here; he'll come," Frodo reassured his antsy gardener.

"I know Mister Frodo, it's just hiccup . . ." Sam blushed and made a gesture toward a far corner. Frodo surpressed a laugh and Sam viciously nodded his head in the same direction, accidentally banging it into Pippin, complete with ale.

"Steady on, Sam!" Pippin exclaimed, drying himself off with a napkin. "Has anyone seen Merry?"

"He went out for some fresh air. He said it was too stuffy in here." Frodo answered. "I'm beginning to agree with him," he added with a glance around the room.

"You're not thinking of going out there, Mr. Frodo," Sam whispered. "What if those black riders are back."

"No, Sam, I'll stay here until Gandalf comes. He'll know what to do." Just then Merry rushed in, holding a sopping wet animal in his arms. His normally cheerful face was serious, even a bit frightened as he discretely took a seat beside Frodo.

"What happened?" the ringbearer inquired in a whisper when he was certain no one was listening.

"Well, I was feeling shivers run down my spine really bad, as if something evil was about. Then out of nowhere, this falls straight into my arms," Merry gestured toward he grey object he held. "I wasn't as scared, but I figured I'd better come in and tell you."

"We'd better dry it off," Sam volunteered, gently taking the animal from Merry. "There now, it's going to be all right," he comforted, walking toward the fireplace with the animal warm in his shirt.

"Well, Frodo, what do you make of it?" Merry asked, but Frodo didn't answer. The exhausted ringbearer was fast asleep.


	2. Of Fireworks and Singed Bird

**Chapter 2 Of Fireworks and Singed Birds**

The figure in the corner of the room stared intently at the sleeping Ringbearer. He sighed.

Two of this Hobbit's companions seemed completely oblivious to the dangerous situation he could be in. They were talking merrily to each other and anyone who came their way. The fourth was sprawled by the fire, an odd grey thing in his arms. He was cradling it like a baby. There couldn't have been a more unlikely bunch, especially for what Strider suspected soon awaited the group.

Sam raised his head, suddenly aware that he was being watched. He turned to throw a suspicious look at the dark hooded man in the corner. Sam had noticed that his gaze rarely left Frodo's sleeping form 'I'd better get him to a room where at least he'll be safe.' Sam thought, and, sticking the fluffy, grey, bundle into his vest, he strolled over to Frodo.

"Sorry to wake you, Mr. Frodo, but wouldn't it be better for you to sleep in a bed?" Frodo lifted his head up, sleep still heavy in his eyes.

"You're right, Sam," Frodo agreed and would have continued, but he was interrupted by the flapping of wings. The grey parrot had managed to escape Sam's vest and was now circling Frodo's head.

"Easy, easy," Sam tried to comfort it, attempting to catch the flying thing. His struggle, however, only caused the parrot to fly higher. Then sparks began to emerge from its feet. All eyes turned to the grey bird flying above their heads. The room was lit in the flash of several colors, reflecting off the eyes of every being in the room. The stranger in the corner rose and grasped the parrot in his hand, but as he did another firework came and spread its flame across both the bird and the Ranger's hand, causing the parrot to drop to the ground. Sam rushed to its aid. The Ranger knelt down and rubbed something over its body, showing no sign of pain from his singed hand. Sam was amazed at this.

"He'll be all right," the human assured Sam. The young Hobbit was surprised. The man did not sound gruff and harsh, but rather gentle and wise, yet almost sad. The parrot too seemed to like his voice, for he climbed to the man's shoulder, pressing his beak against the hood that shielded his face. He whispered something to the bird in Elvish and his dirty hands caressed its head.

"Mithwë," he whispered.

"That's Elvish," Sam whispered in wonder, an amazed twinkling light in his eyes. He glanced in awe at Frodo, who met his gaze, knowingly.

"Appearances can be deceiving, Sam," he whispered. At the sound of the Ringbearer's voice, the bird painfully stepped over Sam's shoulders and onto Frodo's.

"Is everything all right over here, gentlemen?" Barliman Butterbur asked, approaching the group. He glanced suspiciously at the Ranger.

"Everything is fine, Mr. Butterbur," Pippin replied, "but my cousin and I could use some more ale." He gestured at Merry who smiled and waved drunkenly at Butterbur. The parrot on Frodo's shoulder seemed to shake its head in fearful protest.

"Be quiet, you," Pippin rebuked the bird. He promptly got another drink and climbed up on a table as he and Merry began to dance to a traditional Shire song. Seeing his two cousins were occupied, Frodo grabbed Sam and slunk toward the inn door, his feathered friend still perched on his shoulder. The Hobbits slowly made their way through the crown, the majority of which were observing the two dancing Hobbits trip over each other's feet and kick several bystanders. As the Ringbearer opened the inn door, a crisp autumn breeze hit both Hobbits. The bird ruffled his singed feathers and the door closed behind them. Frodo sat down on the damp step. On the streets of Bree, only a few people still remained in the form of an occasional passerby, but even that was too much for Frodo's liking. He decided that there was, however, nothing he could do about it. Rain dripped from the rooftop and onto the Hobbits' heads. For a few moments, the two Halfling and the bird sat in silence; the only sound was the pitter patter of the rain. Then Frodo slammed his fist on his knee.

"Where is Gandalf?!" he cried, his voice strained in frustration and concern. The parrot on his shoulder snuggled up against his face. As he stroked its head, tears formed in his eyes.

"We'll be safe here for the night, Mr. Frodo. I'm sure he'll be here by morning." The bird cooed its encouragement.

"Yes, you will be safe," said a voice behind them. "I can promise you that


	3. Pollymysteries

_Disclaimer: I don't own it. My dad is looking over my shoulder so I can't claim anything. _

**Chapter III Polymysteries**

Both Hobbits fearfully turned around, terrified that whoever was behind them was a servant of the enemy. It was Sam who first recognized the Ranger.

"You!" he shouted loudly. Frodo gave him a desperate sign to quiet down. "I don't know whether to admire you or sock the life out of you," Sam whispered harshly.

"I doubt you could harm me, young Hobbit."

"You wanna bet?" Sam growled through clenched teeth, but his master's hand planted firmly on his shoulder clearly prevented any action on Sam's part. Behind the Hobbits, a suspicious looking character was sneaking about. He was getting quite close to Frodo, but Sam was too occupied with Strider to notice. The bird began to sing loudly, in what sounded like an elvish tune. Sam was distracted from the Ranger and everything else by it, while the song seemed to have a calming effect on Frodo. The Ringbearer leaned, exhausted, against the damp wall of the Prancing Pony and soon slept. Sam and the Ranger stood entranced until the rain stopped and a full moon and stars appeared overhead. Once he could think, Sam realized it must be quite late. On the streets of Bree, only they remained. He turned to speak to Frodo, but saw he was asleep.

"I'll carry him to your room," the human whispered, lifting the Ringbearer, while Sam, realizing he couldn't easily carry Frodo up the stairs and expect him to remain asleep, opened the door. The inn was amazingly quiet. The fire still glowed brightly, but that was the only light in the entire room. Butterbur had gone to sleep and the dining room appeared deserted. The man proceeded up the stairs and Sam showed him to their quarters. Pippin and Merry were in the two beds nearest the door. One of them, probably Merry, was snoring.

"There is an inn, a merry old inn . . . " Pippin sang in his sleep as the group passed him. The ranger gently laid Frodo on the third bed and tucked him in. The bird, who had stayed on Frodo's shoulder, now waddled up to the bedpost, as if he meant to watch over the Ringbearer.

"Mae dhu (goodnight)," the Ranger whispered as he stroked the bird's head. "Goodnight, Sam." With that, the man left the room. Sam was still debating whether to trust him or not when he finally dozed off.

The night passed without incident. Frodo was the first to awaken. Rushed he down the stairs, anxious for news.

"Has Gandalf come?" he breathlessly demanded of a drowsy Butterbur.

"Not yet, Master Underhill. Is that your real name?"

"Yes," Frodo lied. Butterbur nodded slowly as Frodo returned to his rom. The only being stirring was the grey bird that gazed intently at Frodo. The Hobbit sat down on the bed. The bird approached him, perching upon his left forefinger. He stroked its head, falling into a sort of trance, wondering where Gandalf was and how long they would have to remain in Bree before he came.

"Good morning, Mr. Frodo."

"Good morning, Sam." They decided to awaken Pippin and Merry and breakfast together, depending upon the philosophy of safety in numbers. The younger Hobbits grumbled at being drug from their beds at such an early hour, but brightened at the thought of food. Then, left the beds they did, the bird, still secure upon Frodo's finger.

They were no sooner in the common room than the bird sprang to the floor and dashed away, through the legs of the few early risers. He vanished behind Butterbur's desk quicker than the Hobbits could make chase. They needn't have worried, though. Moments later, he waddled over to them, a tattered, aged-looking envelope secured in his beak. Frodo picked him up and the bird dropped his parcel into his lap.

"I suppose he wants me to open it." At this, the bird nodded viciously. The Hobbit gently unsealed it and removed a letter.

" THE PRANCING PONY, BREE. Midyear's Day, Shire Year, 1418.

_Dear Frodo, _

_Bad news has reached me here. I must go off at once. You had better leave Bag End soon, and get out of the Shire before the end of July at latest. I will return as soon as I can; and I will follow you, if I find that you are gone. Leave a message fore me here, if you pass through Bree. you can trust the landlord (Butterbur). You may meet a friend of mine on the Road: a Man, lean, dark, tall, by some called Strider. He knows our business and will help you. Make for Rivendell. there I hope we may meet again. If I do not come, Elrond will advise you. _

_Yours in haste_

_GANDALF._

_PS Do not use It again, not for any reason whatever! Do not travel by night!_

_P.P.S. Make sure that it is the real Strider. There are many strange men on the roads. His true name is Aragorn. _

_All that is gold does not glitter, _

_Not all those who wander are lost_

_The old that is strong does not wither, _

_Deep roots are not reached by the frost. _

_From the ashes a fire shall be woken, _

_A light from the shadows shall spring;_

_Renewed shall be blade that was broken, _

_The crownless again shall be king._

_PPPS I hope Butterbur sends this promptly. A worthy man, but his memory is like a lumber room: the thing wanted always buried. If he forgets, I shall roast him. _

_Fare Well!_ (Tolkien Fellowship of the Ring 192-193)

**Author's Note: Believe it or not, I'm not dead. I know I haven't updated this in forever, but here it is. Hope it was enjoyable. Now don't forget to review it. **

**MornieGalad**


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